Only one festered in the darkest parts of my core.
Ever since Serena St. Michael blasted her way through the walls I built around my darkened heart, that bloodline has climbed its way to the surface, demanding attention.
Demanding acceptance.
Demanding I embrace it.
Demanding in love, I find peace.
Serena
SOMETHING DAMP AND SLIGHTLY MOLDY-SMELLING IS thrown at my face with force. I moan and without opening my eyes, my fingers pluck whatever it is off and toss it to the floor.
The sound of hands clapping angrily forces me to attempt to slowly open my lids. They flutter for a few seconds before a gray, coffee-flecked stare narrows in my direction, aimed by the petite gargoyle staring at me.
I growl at her and pull the blankets over my head, sending me back into the darkness I’ve been in for weeks.
My annoyingly persistent, nonverbal best friend and roommate tugs the blankets off me, and then walks around the room, opening the curtains and letting the insanely bright sunshine into my bedroom, causing me to squint.
She snaps her fingers at me, her version of growling.
“I’m up. I’m up!” I yell when she continues to snap.
Her slender arms fold over her chest as she waits for me to get my ass out of bed. Throwing my legs over the side, I look down at the towel pooled by my feet and then to her.
“You left your wet towel on the bathroom floor—again!” she scolds me, signing each word with her hands.
“So, you decided to throw it onto my face?”
“Yes.”
“Wow, Mags, super childish,” I counter.
She rolls her eyes at the ridiculous statement, because we both know I’m the childish one. Magali glares at me.
I frown. “You could have at least let me grab a cup of coffee and fully wake up before you sign-yell at me.”
She huffs and continues to yell at me in sign language.
I ignore her ramblings. “What time is it anyway?”
Magali pins me with a glare, but when her eyes lock on to mine and she sees how bloodshot they are from crying, her hands stop moving through the air angrily and she gives me a sympathetic look. Her pity just annoys me more.
“Noon,” she replies.
“Great.” I pick up the towel and walk to the bathroom.
Magali stands in the doorway watching me as I throw the towel into the washing machine with a dramatic flair.
I shoot her a sarcastic smirk as I shut the door, then sign swear words at her through the back of the door.
She knocks twice, letting me know she knows I’m cursing at her, before I hear her bare feet pad down the hall.
With a heavy sigh, I walk over to the sink, turn on the faucet, and splash cold water on my face. My gaze lifts and I look at myself in the mirror as the water drips in streams off my face, reminding me of rivulets of rain on glass panes. Come on Serena, you’re stronger than this.
Rain.
Tristan.
I inhale and lie to myself. I tell myself I did the right thing. It was my only option. Tristan is where he belongs, in his realm. And I am where I belong, at the Academy.
I splash another round of water on my face, grab a fresh towel, and gently pat my skin dry. As I do, I stare back at myself in the mirror the entire time. The cognac flecks that have appeared between the deep blue of my irises have spread. It’s jarring. Hopefully, it will wear off with time.
After I brush my hair and teeth, I throw the towel on the floor. The instant it hits the tiles, Magali knocks twice on the door again, startling me.
I mumble under my breath at her ridiculous ability to know what I am doing, and snatch the towel off the floor, contemplating placing it back on the sink before I decide to throw it in the washing machine.
Adding a few more items, I turn the machine on and just stand in front of it. I watch the fabric twirl and spin inside the soapy water. Numb. That’s what I am. Unfeeling.
Since returning to the Academy, my friends look at me like I’m a wounded puppy. Even Ethan and Lucas stayed with me that first month, holding me every night, one on each side, taking turns letting me cry on their shoulders.
After a while, they had to return to Notre Dame, their protector assignment. Then Ryker and Ireland stepped in.
They mainly treated me like a child. They fought over what and when I should eat, sleep, and get fresh air. The entire time Magali just watched from the sidelines, nursing her own heart. Zander hasn’t visited her since Rionach died. Although she’s handling it a million times better than I am.
I inhale and ignore the brokenness inside me. With every ounce of strength I have, I open the door and walk into the kitchen in our suite. Magali hands me a cup of coffee and I offer her a small smile before taking a sip and moaning in pleasure. She places her mug down so she can sign to me.
It’s her favorite cup. My dad gave it to her for Christmas because Magali always gets annoyed when people assume because she’s unvoiced that she can’t hear them. It says I can still hear you, dumbass. I smile at the memory and mug.
“You can’t sleep in tomorrow, Ser.”
“Why not?”
“A new chancellor has been appointed to the school and all protectors are required to attend a meeting tomorrow in the main office.”
I frown. I knew my family was searching for another gargoyle to take over Chancellor Davidson’s position, but I wasn’t aware they’d found someone. It’s been two months since my Uncle Keegan stepped in temporarily, acting as the head of the Royal Protector Academy. To be honest, I’ll be glad when his rough, grumpy ass returns to London.
“You’d think my mom or dad would have warned me.”
“Especially Abby, since she calls eight times a day.”
“She’s gotten better, it’s only four now.”
“Only because Callan keeps hiding her phone.”
“True. He keeps putting in the same spot though, so . . .”
We both fall into a laughing fit at the thought of my parents and their insane, childish behavior with each other.
It feels good to laugh. To be home. To be normal again.
“Do you miss Zander?” I ask quietly.
She shrugs. “His dad died, Ser. He needs time to come to terms with the loss and find his place in the realm. I’ll be here when he’s ready.”
I admire her strength. “He’s lucky to have you.”
She winks. “I know.”
“I’d hug you, if you didn’t hate hugs.”
“I do,” she nods.
“And public displays of affection.”
“Yup.”
We fall silent again, lost in our thoughts.
“Want me to lick you instead?” I ask.
“No,” she laughs.
“How am I supposed to show you my love for you?”
“You could pick up your wet towels.”
“Wet towels symbolize love to you?” I ask in disbelief.
“No. Wet towels not on the floor expresses love to me.”
“Fine. I’ll work on it.”
“And that’s why I love you back.”
The door to our suite swings open, and Ryker and Ireland stroll in, champagne and chocolate in hand.
“We’re here to comfort the girl,” Ryker announces.
“Which one?” Mags and I say at the same time.
He stops and looks around, his dark brows falling over his eyes. “Shit! I’m officially the only one left standing.”
“What do you mean, Ry?” Ireland asks.
“I’m the only guy left.” He heads into the kitchen, mumbling to himself about needing more male friends.
Ireland drops onto a stool and flicks her strawberry blonde ponytail over her slender shoulder. Her gray, emerald-flecked gaze shifts to me, while Ryker puts the champagne in the fridge and the chocolates on the counter.
“So,” she says.
“So?” I repeat.
“Who is the new chancello
r?”
“Oh.” My eyes shift to Magali. “I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?” Ryker questions, walking around the island and sitting on the other stool.
Mags makes and hands each of them a cup of coffee, then opens the box of chocolates and bites into three before deciding she’s found one she likes. The other halves are returned to their positions within the box. No one responds to this. It’s her way; we’re used to it. Ryker will most likely eat the other halves. It’s this weird habit they have together.
“I just found out there is a new one this morning.”
“What?” Ireland shrieks. “How is that possible? Your family runs the Academy, Serena,” she points out.
I bite my lip. “Well, they’re not exactly . . . pleased with me. You know, after what I did.” I don’t meet her eyes.
Ryker pins me with a look. “What you did?” he parrots. “You mean, leaving your assignment and running off to the woodland realm? Or are they pissed that you hung with a Maleficium witch who glamoured you?” he ticks off.
None of my friends were amused by my actions.
“Oh, I know,” Ireland says, excited to join in. “They’re mad that you tried to steal a groom from a bride who went all psycho and killed Henry.” She adds, as if this is a game.
“No, wait,” Ryker interjects. “Their anger must stem from the fact that you schemed and placed yourself in the middle of a dangerous battle, with the dark army that is trying to end your existence, all while killing an emperor.”
I sigh at the two of them. “I was there. You don’t need to point out the week’s events to me. I remember, vividly.”
“Shit!” Ireland exhales. “You did all that in a week?”
“Imagine what she can do in a month,” Magali adds.
“Hey,” I say defensively. “Zander helped me.”
Magali’s face turns sad, and instantly I feel horrible.
“Sorry, Mags. I didn’t—”
She waves me off.
“Anyway, my clan is upset—at all of it. The only member of my family who is speaking to me is my mother. And that is through secret text messages and voice mails, reminding me to brush my teeth and eat broccoli.”
Ryker shivers. “Broccoli. Yuck.”
“They haven’t entirely cut you off. I mean, your sexy and stoically hot uncle has been acting as the Academy’s temporary chancellor,” Ireland mentions brightly.
“I’m sitting right here,” her boyfriend retorts.
“I see you.” She smiles flirtatiously. “But I also see him. A lot.”
I roll my eyes. “Uncle Keegan isn’t the warmest. And watch how long you gaze upon him—my aunt Kenna will spoon out your eyes for looking at him with anything other than hatred or disinterest.”
“Why is she bitchy?” Ryker inquires.
“Maybe she needs a puppy,” Ireland suggests.
“She’d probably kill it. For being cute. And lovable,” I respond. “Anyway. None of them are speaking to me.”
“If you had to guess, who would you think they’d appoint?” Ryker inquires, sipping his coffee.
“I don’t know. They’ve always talked about replacing Henry with someone from the Irish or Scottish clans if he ever retired. My guess is it will be someone like that.”
“Old and female would be good. Then maybe my girlfriend won’t be ogling her,” Ryker blows out.
“Or maybe I will,” Ireland teases back.
My gaze roams over Magali, who for the first time in three years hasn’t flinched or looked crestfallen at the mention that Ryker and Ireland are together. A tightness seeps into my chest. She must really like Zander if she no longer cares.
“I didn’t say old, or female. I said Irish or Scottish.”
Ryker plucks the half-eaten chocolates out of the box, popping them into his mouth. He chews and swallows.
“Take comfort ladies, we’ll find out tomorrow.”
Tristan
THE SUN IS BARELY ABOVE THE horizon when I push open both french doors leading out onto the balcony and step outside. Brilliant bursts of orange and yellow flood the whole skyline as the sun rises from the horizon. The weaving shadows draping the wooded land disappear, replaced by beams of warm light streaming through the forest.
I inhale the early warmth of the morning air as my eyes roam over the picturesque landscape. A light breeze sighs through the land, awakening the foliage and vegetation. The emerald blades covering the ground bend and shift.
I don’t understand how someone can see the beauty here and not crave it day after day.
For a moment, at least, the world is quiet.
The clock inside ticks and then chimes.
I step back inside as the doors to my office open and Maria walks in with a cup of coffee in hand. She presents it to me and places a plate of fruit on the paper-covered desk.
“Thanks,” I grunt at her, grateful for the caffeine.
She frowns. “You looked like you need it.”
She’s right. I rolled out of bed this morning and got into the shower, hoping it would aid in waking me up. It didn’t.
Maria looks around, disgusted. “This place is so dusty. You’ve been holed up in here too long. Want me to clean it?”
I look around and shake my head. “No. Leave it.”
She pins me with a stern look. “Other than to sleep and shower, you haven’t left this room. You have twenty-four more hours. Then I’m coming in here and taking care of the mess. It’s what you pay me for. And for the record, it smells like death in here,” she adds, and I place the coffee down.
“Fine.” I go to pick up the drink, but her words stop me.
Maria gives me a sad look. “Are you sure you want to keep isolating yourself like this, Tristan? Is this,” she waves around my office, “where you want to hide away?”
I ignore her and harden my expression.
“Rionach’s death wasn’t your fault. Queen Ophelia and your brother would hate that you’re doing this to yourself.”
With a sharp exhale, I look to the doors. She’s right.
“When they arrive, direct them in here,” I clip out.
She sighs and dips her head before leaving me alone. I sink into the leather chair, staring at the closed doors.
Frustrated, I scrub my hands down my face, wishing Zander were here with me.
I know why he isn’t, but still.
The sound of the clock ticking fills the room again.
And I wait with the ghosts that linger in the shadows for the shitstorm that is about to go down as I grab the file and open it. A photo of Serena stares back at me.
“Everything comes back to you,” I whisper to her.
Noise from outside my door draws my attention. I close the file and throw it onto my desk with the rest of the paperwork I’ve been studying for the past week.
I remain seated as Maria opens the doors and lets everyone I’ve summoned enter. They’re speaking in hushed, curious tones, no doubt wondering why I’ve called them here so early. As they enter, each looks at me with surprise.
All but one.
Who is late.
Twenty minutes later, the doors open again.
“Miss St. Michael, it’s nice of you to join us this morning,” I welcome from behind Henry’s desk.
At the sound of my voice, she freezes and pales. Her sapphire gaze lifts and locks onto mine as her lips part.
“Um,” she manages, and I smile at the familiar conversation we’re having.
“My favorite word of yours,” I reply, as I did before when she had the same reaction to my being a professor here. “As you are aware, I don’t like tardiness. Take a seat.”
Confused, Serena looks around before staring at her friends, who are smiling at her. They’ve been here for a while, and I’ve already given my speech to all the protectors on assignment here. They all know why I am here.
“What’s going on?” she whispers, stumbling over to Magali and sliding into
an empty seat next to her friend.
Magali lifts her hands to sign. “Tristan is the new chancellor of the Royal Protector Academy, apparently.”
Serena’s gaze darts around the office, in complete shock.
I keep my expression blank as she processes.
She presses her lips into a flat line. “Wait, what?”
“If you had arrived on time, you would have heard my speech and been fully briefed,” I snap out. “The rest of you may leave. Miss St. Michael, stay seated,” I demand.
In shock, Serena watches the other gargoyles who have been assigned to the Academy as their protection duty stand and leave. They respectfully incline their heads or shake my hand as they head to their morning posts and watches.
When the last protector has left, I close the door and lock it, swinging my gaze to her narrowed one. She’s silent.
“Chancellor?” her voice questions, and my tongue gets stuck to the roof of my mouth. “What the hell, Tristan?”
My expression remains blank as her eyes hold mine. All of a sudden, she bolts out of the chair and begins pacing in front of the desk, nervously fidgeting with her bracelet.
“You can’t be in charge of the protector academy if you are planning to be king of the woodland realm someday.”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not planning to be king of the woodland realm someday.”
She abruptly stops and faces me, without a word.
After a second, I take a step in her direction.
She takes a step back, putting space between us.
Unable to help myself, I stalk toward her, closing each stretch of space she’s grasping for. Eventually, she bumps into the desk, and curls both hands around the ledge, leaning onto it. I slam my hands on the top, trapping her in my arms, and lean in, my lips almost brushing hers.
“Your silence isn’t helping here, raindrop.”
“I don’t understand,” she breathes across my mouth.
“I’ve renounced the throne,” I speak clearly.
Her stare bores into mine, as if she’s trying to find the untruth in my statement. Unfortunately for her, she won’t.
“I don’t believe you,” she whispers.
“I didn’t ask you to believe me.”
Aequus Page 18
